


When Big Brother Was Utterly Displeased

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dark Mycroft Holmes, Dinner, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Sex, Jealous Mycroft, M/M, Possessive Mycroft, Post-Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock has saved Irene's life and thought nobody had found out. He's wrong...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 25
Kudos: 154





	When Big Brother Was Utterly Displeased

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Reckoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370135) by [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/pseuds/SlytherinsDragon). 



Stupid… How could he have been so stupid? Thinking that he would get away with it… Still it had looked as if he had indeed gotten away with it for two full days. His fake ID had worked flawlessly. He had used his best false teeth. Had slicked back his hair after vigorously straightening his curls. Everything to match the photograph on his so far unused passport (under the name William Jones). Had made sure to never look into the direction of a camera. Had invented a case to conceal where he was actually going when he had been texting with his lover. Had told John that he was taking care of something top secret he couldn’t tell him any details about. He had really hedged his bets. And he had just gone in and out. Had saved Irene from being decapitated and taken the next flight back to London. He had not even been away for half a day.

Of course – Irene had wanted to thank him when he had brought her to the safe place. In her very own way… He had batted her away of course, ignoring her pouting. He had not saved her to get this kind of reward… He had saved her because she had been an entirely new challenge. She had played her game so well and she would have never lost it if she hadn’t fallen in love with him. True, she had humiliated him thoroughly, especially towards Mycroft. She had made him betray the country and he had not even realised it. That had not been a smart thing to do. But still… She hadn’t deserved to _die_ for it. So when she had contacted him, he had set everything in motion. Saved her life.

And thought nobody would ever find out… Especially not his brother, the single most important person in his life.

They had met that same evening. Mycroft had been busy all day and had attended a ghastly dinner party, and afterwards he had been in need of a distraction. Attention. And Sherlock had gladly given him both and it had all been very nice.

And now this. This text.

_My house. Dinner. 7. MH_

Amazing how such few words could express so much exasperation. No ‘hello, Sherlock’. No ‘XXX’. This had not been an invitation. It had been an order. An order, expressed in a tone – as much as a text could have a tone – that left no room for disobedience or discussion. Or delay.

And so Sherlock entered his brother’s house five minutes before 7pm, dressed for a formal dinner – suit, new, creamy white shirt, even a tie. Just to placate his brother. Knowing it would not. Because this text could only mean one thing, and one look at his brother’s face when he entered the dining room after hastily hanging up his coat and hurrying to cross the hallway told him that this deduction had been correct.

Mycroft knew.

And Mycroft was very upset.

Very, very upset.

Dinner had already been served. The long table was covered with serving plates, their contents kept warm by heavy serving domes. They had been the pride of late Great Aunt Admilla and she had insisted on bequeathing them to Mycroft, her favourite nephew. They, like the platters, were made of pure silver and were heavy enough to break one’s foot. Sherlock should know. He had let one fall onto Grandpa Arbert’s right foot accidentally on purpose – the old man had lost the left one in the Great War. At least he had not been able to run after Sherlock…

The servants who had to carry all the stuff into the dining room were not to be envied. Sherlock had never seen one though. They had to be there. Mycroft was working more than a full day. He left the house at five in the morning and returned, if nothing out of the ordinary happened that delayed his return, at six-thirty. He simply could not have prepared all those different dishes himself. And Sherlock could really not see his sophisticated older brother scrubbing the floors… He had asked Mycroft once about his staff but that had merely brought him a raised eyebrow and the suggestion to mind his own business.

Who was even supposed to eat all this, whatever it actually was? Fish, most certainly. Mycroft loved all kinds of fish – despite human goldfish… Sherlock, not so much. There would be steak, too, probably. Potato gratin – hopefully. Something more exotic perhaps.

Mycroft liked to eat if he was in a bad mood. He would never just devour his meal though like the common man he was decidedly not. He ate like he did anything else – with grace, dignity and reason. Apart from sex. He did draw the line at sex. Sex had to be dirty and loud, he had told Sherlock right in the beginning of their unusual relationship. Sherlock had not minded at all. To see Mycroft shed all his shields and thoroughly enjoy himself, sweating and dripping and panting, was his favourite thing in the whole world.

But he would hardly get to experience it today…

He had stopped after entering the room, looking shyly at his older brother.

“Sit down.” Cold blue eyes were fixating Sherlock with an unidentifiable expression.

“Um… Mycroft, I…”

“Sit. Down.”

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip. He put a large, linen napkin over his lap when he had taken the seat that had been laid out for him. Opposite of Mycroft. There was wine in his glass already. Very good wine of course. Mycroft would never drink any cheap beverages. Apart from water. He took it from the tap.

“Did you have a nice day?” he asked Sherlock, lifting the service dome from the first platter. Fish, of course…

“Um. I did. Thank you. And you? Have you been very busy?”

“Indeed. Lots of ghastly meetings. A stressful day.”

“You might want some recreation then,” Sherlock tried his luck. Mycroft would perhaps like to fuck him. Hard. Very, very hard… Even if he wasn’t able to sit for days on end then, he would have gladly shed his trousers right here and now and taken Mycroft's giant cock without any preparation at all if it only improved big brother's mood. Sherlock hated to disappoint him. What had he been thinking?!

Mycroft completely ignored the open invitation. “So… Nothing out of the ordinary happening to you?”

“Um. Today? No.”

Mycroft nodded. “I see.”

He filled his plate with fish and offered the platter to Sherlock. Trout. Ghastly. But Sherlock took a tiny bite. And his hand only shivered a little bit.

“What about yesterday? Anything interesting?” Mycroft continued his interrogation while rearranging his napkin.

Sherlock felt like jumping up and fleeing the house. But he would never do that. “No. Not really.”

The next dish was revealed. Potato gratin indeed! It would have been his lucky day if…

“And what about this week then?” Mycroft asked, his voice totally calm. “Nothing happened that’s worth telling me about?”

“I’m sorry,” blurted Sherlock. “I… I shouldn’t have done it but…”

“...but you couldn’t resist her, I see.” Mycroft’s voice was not that calm anymore. His gorgeous eyes were narrowed to tiny slits of anger.

“No! Nothing like this!” Sherlock was horrified. “I’m not in love with her or anything!”

“Aren’t you now. Not interested in exploring what the female part of the population has between their legs?”

“No! Ghastly! Bah!” Sherlock got up to be able to touch his brother’s hand, which was just out of reach.

A fierce glare made him sit down instantly again.

Mycroft put some tiny carrots and peas onto his plate then. “So you had purely altruistic reasons to save this blackmailing whore from losing her thin-lipped, ugly head.”

God… Mycroft was not only upset. Not only jealous. He was raging with wrath. Worse than when he had found Sherlock in drug dens – before they had gotten together as lovers. He had never behaved like this since… Well, since John had come into his life. But not even then he had been so pissed off.

“I… I don’t even like her,” Sherlock said, truthfully. “It was a good game and…”

“Yes. I know the game you played. It was called _‘betray-the-country-and-make-your-brother-look-like-an-idiot’_! Even Moriarty mocked me! And then you have the _nerve_ to sneak out of the country to save this bloody cunt!” Mycroft had gotten louder with every word. His right hand was cramped around his knife so hard that his knuckles looked as if they were close to bursting the skin of his delicate fingers.

“I’m so sorry! I really am. I will never do something like this again. Let me make up for it! Please!”

“Eat, Sherlock. Peas are good for you. You like pods after all as it seems…”

Sherlock grimaced but he took the silver platter with the carrots and peas and shovelled some of them onto his plate. He ate a bite of the fish and tried not to gag. He hastily let some gratin follow, which was delicious.

Mycroft watched him grimly. He fetched another platter and lifted the service dome. “You need to take some of this, too.”

Sherlock dropped his cutlery. And his jaw. Then he started to retch.

“It’s not to your liking?” Mycroft asked, tapping his forefinger against his dimpled chin. “Hm. I thought you would appreciate it. You do take to the goldfish these days after all.”

Sherlock was fighting the urge to throw up.

Mycroft shook his head. “If you vomit onto the table, I will be very cross.”

Somehow Sherlock succeeded in swallowing what had come up and threatened to leave him through his throat.

“So… You said something about recreation?” Mycroft asked sweetly.

Sherlock managed a nod. His forehead was sweaty and his pulse was racing. He tried to look anywhere but at the last platter.

“How about a blowjob?”

Sherlock shot up from his chair. “Yes. Let’s go upstairs.”

“You don’t think you want to do it here? You could kneel down between my legs while I’m eating,” Mycroft said, dreamily.

They had done this before. It had been very hot. But…

“No. Please. Not today,” Sherlock begged.

“Fine.” Mycroft stood up. “Are you sure you can manage sucking me on your own or do you want me to bring some assistance? I'm sure she was very good at it.” The politician glanced at the table.

Sherlock gagged again. “No,” he croaked. “I’ll do it with pleasure.” It was something he loved to do – sucking big brother’s enormous cock until it released spurts of sticky come into his throat. If it was going to be so easy today with his volatile stomach and a throat sore from retching was another question but he would manage. He would simply stop thinking about…

“Hm. I do hope so. Let’s go.”

When Sherlock followed him out of the dining room – and Mycroft was walking without any haste – he couldn’t help but look back, against all reason hoping he had hallucinated it.

But there it was – Irene Adler’s head on a silver platter, resting on a bed of dried blood and green salad, her blue eyes – only slightly milky –seemingly leering at him. Sherlock stared at the ensemble, his right hand over his mouth, his stomach turning once more.

“Coming, Sherlock?”

“Yes.” On shaky legs, he hastened out of the room to keep up with his brother, the most intelligent, fascinating, attractive, dangerous and possessive man anyone had ever met.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> :) What can I say… I never liked Irene!  
> These two pics/gifs feel very fitting for this fic:
> 
> https://avauntmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/mgohg4-1440x1462.jpg
> 
> https://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcrosk7zVQ1ruyz4so1_500.gif


End file.
